


The Silent are Damned

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Attempted Murder, Basically everyone - I think!, Cause I will ruin them with my shitty writing, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, M/M, Murder, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ‘Gasping was Kyle’s first instinct, gulping for the air that wasn't there.  He found the hardest part of it was stopping his head from coming above the water to breathe.'It had been a year since the death of Kyle Broflovski.  It had left a void in the hearts of many, no more so than his friends - most who hadn't realized how awful the mind of the once lively boy had become.A year later and the mysteries weren't the only thing that came back to haunt South Park.





	The Silent are Damned

 

***A year ago***

_The lake's waters matched the midnight sky, with the moon's rays highlighting the stars in the heavens.  Douchebag could picture it perfectly, much so that it almost seemed real. Except it wasn't._

_After all, he wouldn't have been able to walk on the surface of the water if it was._

_He was amazed that he was keeping his cool, he had never been the most confident swimmer - which didn't go well with his fear of deep waters either._

_But for some reason, the water didn’t give, nor did the giddy feeling in Douche's chest._

_It was tranquil._

_That was till the scream. Like something straight out of a horror movie, it cut through the air chilling everything before going quiet once more._

_Then, stretching out, a bony hand rose out of the depths, clasping and ripping at the air between his feet. The boy barely had enough time to gasp before it latched on to his right ankle and dragged him into the abyss of murky darkness below._

_Down, lower, yet deeper the hand pulled him below the surface. Only before the point that his lungs felt like they were going to collapse did the grip loosen its hold on him._

_Douche's first instinct was to swim up, back in the direction of the surface. But despite the lack of air in his lungs, he remained. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was there, and it disturbed him greatly._

_It wasn't until a light illuminated the waters below from the surface that Douchebag saw who else was in the lake among him._

_The red hair was unmistakable, as was the bright orange jacket, dark green pants the body wore. The lime ushanka, alongside the boy, was all too familiar. Even with the eyes shut and body floating distortedly, Douche knew it was Kyle._

_He and the other boy just floated for a few heartbeats in the gloom._

_They were so still that some fish began to swim, Douche could see them glimmer in the harsh light. One tried to swim directly past Kyle's face._

_It didn't make it, however, past his eyes. Disintegrating right as it passed. The ashes seemed to radiate green if he hadn't of been in the nightmarish dream he would have thought it pretty._

_But as the glowing dust scattered, he saw that the light did too._

_Left again in darkness, he still held his breath - surprised by how long he had been able to do so._

_Douche looked at the place of where he had thought Kyle's body had been, closing his eyes and hoping his friend was alright in the waking world._

_Opening his own eyes, he came face to face with the glowing green eyes of his friend.  The eyes themselves held a light that was almost living - holding the joy that the boy had as a child. But they were also void at the same time. Like a colourful black hole sucking all the life from everything it touches._

_Douchebag hadn't even realized that he was screaming until the water filled his lungs, the bubbles of air lost dancing to the surface._

_He pushed 'Kyle' away, and frantically traced after them, trying to push himself to the lake's surface. The pressure of the deep had started to catch up with him, creating great tension in Douche's head. Like a ringing of a bell - never-ending and high pitched. Then the whispers started. He couldn't make them out at first, but as they began to repeat louder and louder, he heard the clutter more clearly. "Say goodnight."_

_At first, Douche couldn't tell whose voice it was._

_Everything started to go faint, all the urges to swim, cry or shout were leaving his mind, the only thing the boy felt was nothing - a feeling of emptiness that couldn't exist as it was nothing, but even nothing is something. It was eating him alive. The thing that was there but wasn't._

_The demon that lurked in the all too familiar corner of the world - the mind. That devil depression which sinks into your blood, and goads forth a different face every time. Two rarely ever being the same._

_As if the voice responded to this resolution, the words turned and twisted, as if trying to claw its way into Douchebag's soul. Wanting to shape it into utter despair and hopelessness. And the result of the new speech did just that._

 

Douche woke up with an uneasy foreboding feeling in his chest and the stench of bile in his throat. He felt like throwing up - which he would have had he not kept wincing before each wretch. His body felt like it had been lit on fire or hit by a truck.

Staring in the direction of his clock, he saw the flashing 0730 light up on its screen. He was completely exhausted. He considered crawling into a ball, closing his eyes and going back to sleep, but a knock at the door soon ended the thought. That and his eyes stung too much anyway.

"Are you alright Honey?" It was his Mum who had opened the door.  Before Douche could reply, his mother gasped loudly, racing to his side. "How do you feel sweetie? Let me check if you have a fever." Puzzled by his Mothers reaction, Douchebag wondered if he looked as drained as he felt. It wasn't till she said "I'll get you some cream and a bucket. Don't worry I'll clean up this mess, okay?"

He looked confused, grabbing his mother’s arm before she left. The boy then slowly opened his mouth trying to find his voice that wasn't quite there. Noticing that his voice was much more hoarse than usual, he spoke one calm word. "Why?"

His mother looked at him cautiously, perhaps trying to remain calm. Which only succeeded in making him more anxious.

"Well, firstly, your eyes are slightly swollen and red. Secondly, you've thrown up a little."

The look on his face had perhaps said it all to her. "Sweatpea, you were crying last night. Must have been some nightmare to make you this bad."

Nightmare? Douche could barely recollect what he had dreamt about the previous night.  All he recalled was that it happened at the lake.

 

It took a lot of persuading to get his mother to agree to let him attend the school that day. Part of which was on the condition that she would drive him and that at the slightest hint of sickness he was going straight back home.

He found he was grateful for the lift, as raindrops raced down the window. Not wanting to trust himself to drive - especially in the downpour.

Douche couldn't shake this feeling of dread that was building up in his head. Though he doubted that it had anything to do with his dream, the boy was still dismayed. Hesitant to rule out the possibility that it was just unexplainable nerves, he didn't dismiss the obscure images of the dream that plagued his mind.

The only clue to how the dream went was the remnants of the feeling of walking on water from the night before, only to feel a sinking sensation in his chest from this morning.

His mother tried to talk to him, attempting to make him feel better. Although as usual, she only got nods and shakes of the head. It didn't take her long to stop. She understood her son, and if he didn't want to speak, he wouldn't.

With the rest of the journey spent in silence - without the aid of radio, which was deemed a nuisance and removed from the car long ago - it wasn't a lengthy drive.

The overcast sky highlighted the school in a dull undertone. Douche pulled his jacket hood up over his head. The slight drizzle was getting heavier.

"Be careful sweetie, please." His mother's voice chirped as he left the car. The youth simply gave her a thumb up before, placing a rucksack full of books over his shoulders and walked the other way.

He listed as her car left its space behind him and sped down the street.

Sighing, he walked into the Devil's doorway; He was going to hell in a handbasket.

 

He hadn't expected to find the letter on his classroom door. Written on it was the requirement for the class to go to the gym for the first period.

The sensation of vomit started to swell in his throat, making him wretch slightly. His nerves were starting to get the better of him. Better to just breath and not play into his anxieties hand. Never had he felt this nervous. Paranoia fiddling with his brain.

The sudden slap on the back dragged him from his thoughts. "Well, well if it isn't Dou- What the fuck happened to you?"

Douche turned and looked at Cartman, who had Stan beside him - the other boy lifting his face from his phone at Cartman's words, his eyes scanning over Douche's own.

"Dude you look like shit. Have you been crying?" Douchebag just shrugged, he couldn't remember crying, yet one wouldn't in their sleep.

"Oh. My. God. Did you listen to Radiohead or something? No wonder you look like you sobbed yourself to sleep, you edgelord fuck." Eric laughed until Stan elbowed him in the stomach.

"Not funny Cartman," turning his gaze back onto Douche. The brawny boy glanced him over once more. "If you want to talk, better me or Kyle than Mackey."

"Speaking of which where is your boyfriend, Stan?" Eric purred.

"Don't know he's not answering." It took a second for Stan to realize what he had just said. "Fuck you, man." He shook his head.

Eric just smirked. "He's probably asleep after lying awake all night thinking about you." Stan simply showed the pudgy boy his middle finger. "Whatever, we should probably go before the hall monitors attack. Kenny and the others should be there already."

 

The three 17-year-olds entered the crowded hall. At the back of the gym was a podium where Mr Mackey stood. A solemn look plastered to his face. The teachers held a grave expression, their eyes held stern gazes, yet still, their stares drifted off, beyond the students.

Kenny and the others were sitting around the middle. Four free seats were present among the group. One for all the group. As they the trio made their way over, Douchebag couldn't help but notice that Kyle was the other person missing.

Douche couldn't help but notice the strife dwelling in the air.

"This is probably some exam bullshit," Eric said under his breath to his friends as they sat. Everyone was sick and tired of the assemblies that the staff would create. But the taste of bile was present in Douche's throat. And a small wave of nausea came over him.

"Just breath buddy." A short blond-haired boy sounded out. "You don't look too good," Butters stated, as the teachers at the entrance closed the doors - perhaps to hide them from the prying eyes.

But before Douche could answer him, Mr Mackey spoke. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like your attention please."

The hall went quiet though it wasn't completely silent. A few stupid fucks still whispered amongst each other.

Although Mackey seemed to ignore them, he looked drained. 

"There's no easy way of saying this..." He started, looking out among the crowd, troubled.

"This morning we heard the extremely tragic news that," His hands trembled, "Kyle Broflovski... Died by suicide in the late hours of last night."

Douche felt his breath hitch. The new sullenness filled the room.

The silence was unbearable.

Like the drifting of a body in an ocean of water. The memories returned equal to sharks, rebounding to finish what they had started.

As the riot broke free, the room started to spin. Most of the teens whispered, perhaps wondering if it was a cruel joke - that Kyle was going to pop out any second now. Cartman was one of the first amongst the handful of disbelievers to call out Mr Mackey. 

"Kahl, kill himself? Sure, when it's a cold day in Hell. Don't make me laugh." insistent that the redhead was too headstrong to ever off himself.

"Eric, this is no humorous jo-"

"Shut up," Stan said loud and clear, extinguishing the older man's words. Mackey looked at the teen. So, did Douche - trying to fight against the swarm of pictures running through his mind to focus on something. Something that would prove that this was just another bad dream.

The whispers started getting louder.

Stan glared at the counsellor, perhaps waiting for him to set aflame. Tears were welling up in his eyes. His voice was hoarse. "Tell me. Tell me how he did it."

Silence passed once more, and as Mackey said the words, he felt the sick rise in his throat.

"Kyle drowned himself, he was found in the lake..."

There was a large thump, presumably Stan sitting back down. Douche could hear his friend's breath catching, sobs echoing off the walls.

The murmurs in his ears rang out like thunder. The hellish images of his dream bleeding out before his eyes. The way Kyle had drifted crookedly in the waters and the green orbs that were no more than coloured eyes of a dead fish.

The voice seared his mind, as the tongue of an all too familiar person rippled in his eardrums. The final words that Douche had forgotten, tearing into his soul and doing the last of the deed were the sentence, _"I'll never get free."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for my shitty writing. I have no idea what this is, I was both pissed and pissed when I wrote it.   
> However, I do like what drunk me was thinking, so I have slightly edited this copy and shared it with you all.  
> I just hope I don't have to get drunk again to end up writing this amount.  
> Oh look I'm talking too much.


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